It’s New Years Day, otherwise known as International Hangover Day. But really, the significance of the arbitrary passage of time is meaningless. So welcome, instead, to the tale of one of the greatest tragedies has ever known. In true 1 Melbourne Place tradition, this will be expressed through 10 songs, carefully crafted to form a musical journey through the epochal end of the universe. Yes, DJ Discourse (reformed) have produced for you the perfect hangover curing playlist. Read and listen on to discover all.

[Bill Withers: Lovely Day-

Perhaps the greatest hurt in this tragic tale stems from a reminder of how spirits were in the beginning. Wesley was going to break. Sam and Malcolm might have broken. Ruth and Matt, according to Nish, could still break. Toni was in good rooms and could break. Richard Hunter (who?) could still break. In short, everyone could still break, and Wesley was going to win worlds.

And indeed, throughout the course of the day, it really was a lovely day. The sun was shining. The temperature was warm. The debates, on the face of it, appeared to go well. Things were looking up. In short, a fine day with fine people in a fine place. A lovely day.

[Talking Heads: Once in a Lifetime]

So lovely was the day that, by its end, it really did feel like we had a once in a lifetime moment to come good. Descending the hill to find beer at Pick n Pay, buying 6 cans for less then £4, staring up at the sun, thoughts turned to excited backtabbing. All the pieces seemed to be feeling into place. The teams were in the right positions. The pull ups and pull downs made sense. The debates felt about right. Both teams thought they’d done well. The final odds of Sam and Malcolm breaking were placed at 1 in 3, later upgraded to 2 in 5. The tab numbers seemed to work. It was going to be fine.

The beer began to flow, and the volume steadily rose. Yet underneath the hedonistic exuberance of youth, a gaping black hole was beginning to emerge.

[Just Jack: Starz in their eyes]

Dreams of fame and fortune grew and grew. Excitement at SSDC caucus (piss up) reached a fever pitch. We were going to enter the realm of champions. As we worked through whatever rubbish was happening at Worlds Council this year, Scotland felt like giants striding over the globe. Lofty statements abounded. Right wing backlash exploded. We could change the world, and we were going to reshape it in the image of Scotland. What William Wallace started, we would finally finish.

Yet look at us now, and we see the truly fractured nature of this facade. The warning signs were emerging. Ideas at caucus became stupid. We ran out of beer. And further backtabbing suggested that maybe, just maybe, results were not all that we thought. The stars were beginning to point elsewhere, yet so fixated were we on acting out Braveheart that frankly, it was all lost in the noise.

We were going to change the world. The final ingredient was ready. Enter the large empty cricket pitch, sound system, and the emergence of dark matter to complete the universe’s transformation. Dark matter, in this instance, appeared as Yakka.

Things were about to get absolutely fucking huge.

[Bee Gees: Tragedy]

Except, wait. They weren’t. For on that fair South African field, the battle was finally exhausted, and the world was lost. Once again, as throughout history, Scotland was annexed by the English. The tradition of valiant defeat continued.

The break rolled. First, no judges broke. Frankly, disgraceful. But no problem, there was still hope in the teams. As we rolled down the break, familiar names appeared: “Oxford”, “Cambridge”, “USU”, “Harvard”. Team codes had changed absolutely nothing.

Great Scottish allies broke. LSE B and Durham A and B all smashed it. Victory smelt near. But then, we entered the forties. And it soon became evident that we had lost. None of us broke. England had triumphed. We were defeated.

At this point, there is only one thing left to say. Fuck debating. There shall be no more discussion of it.

[James Brown: Get Up (I feel like being a) Sex Machine]

Some people took this approach to dealing with disappointment. Legends.

Though actually, even that ended up being disappointing. Another story.

[The Streets: Dry your Eyes Mate]

For the rest though, there was nothing to do but wallow in the great sadness that had overcome them. Upset and grief filled the air.

There was only one thing for it. Fill the void with yakka. And by god, were Scotland good at that. Pure vodka was copiously consumed. Victory here, at least, was assured.

So assured was it, that noone really has any idea what happened. Matt Singer hosted an after party in his room while passed out. The only possible adjective to describe this: “Huge”

[The Verve: The Drugs Don’t Work]

So it was that we awoke with a jolt on the first morning of the glorious New Year. Jolt is maybe generous. Everyone felt atrocious. Malcolm declared this his second worst hangover ever (and there have been some big ones, be assured).

Ignorance of the advice on yakka, it seemed, had contributed to further pain. Don’t pre drink, they said. After 4 cans, Matt and Sam declared they had not pre-drank enough. How wrong they were to be proven.

Don’t eat the lemons, they said. After eating several, Ruth thought she could do anything. How wrong she was to be proven.

And had the yakka cured the crushing defeat? Probably, but it also drove Scotland into a pernicious hungover stasis. This hangover was big.

Paracetamol didn’t work. Anti diarrhoea medicine didn’t work. Only a long, arduous and difficult expedition to the local MacDonalds could save us.

Over chicken nuggets, finally, we vowed to fight another day.

[Crowded House: Don’t Dream it’s Over]

And so, dear reader, that was it. Now we bask in the South African sun, hangover slowly dissipating. Battles lie behind us, but the war is still to come. For now we enter the epoch defining war of the social tab.

Wish us luck, and never forget this. They’ll be talking about it in Aikmans for years to come. Because there, everyone knows your name. And never forget, that name is St Andrews motherfucking Union Debating Society, the OLDEST and FINEST debating society the world has ever known. Don’t ever forget it.